


Vestige

by yeaka



Series: Sucked In [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Ficlet, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Nesting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:29:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29139321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Ignis comes to collect Noctis from another conquered nest.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia, Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia, Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Series: Sucked In [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2141448
Comments: 17
Kudos: 146





	Vestige

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He has to knock several times, which isn’t at all surprising—Gladiolus practically goes into hibernation when his rut comes, and then Ignis has to all but knock down the door to drag him back to work. Heats are, apparently, more debilitating, but Ignis takes enough medication to keep his own in check, and Prompto’s a resilient young man. Ignis has given him a full extra twenty-four hours since his scheduled end, and he should be up and moving. A fifth knock, and the door finally opens, revealing an absolutely enthralling ripe omega in all his post-heat glory.

There’s a split second where Ignis has to real in his own hormones, ward against this fair creature—his animal instincts cry to lean in and nuzzle Prompto’s face, kiss his cheek and wrap him up in a warm hug, take him somewhere safe and soft and cuddle up together. But Ignis is far more evolved than that. He _never_ lets his instincts rule him. He gives a curt, “Good morning, Prompto,” and strictly keeps all the wanton affection out of his voice.

Prompto lifts a hand to rub at his eyes. They’re still heavy with sleep, though he’s dressed so must be up, albeit just in loose sweatpants and a white tank-top. His trademark wristband is snug around his forearm. His hair looks like it’s been brushed halfway—like he _tried_ to tame it, but then fell back to bed. He mumbles, “Hey, Iggy...?” And it’s clear from that dazed and raspy voice that he doesn’t know why Ignis is standing there.

“I texted,” Ignis reminds him. The warning comes out far gentler than the one Noctis will get—it’s not Prompto’s fault hormones have melted his brain. “I’m afraid I have to take Noctis back now.”

Shock and agony flitters through Prompto’s blue eyes—he straightens up, tenses, and for a moment, his pheromones flare like he’s ready to fight for his alpha, though battles between omegas are rarely much to speak of. Then he seems to realize that Ignis isn’t competition, not there to take Noctis away _solely for himself_ , just for the Citadel, and Prompto’s demeanor settles back down. He nods and steps back, letting Ignis into his apartment. 

It _reeks_ of pheromones and sex. Cloud after cloud wafts by, assaulting all Ignis’ senses—Noctis and Prompto’s dueling colognes and raw spit and sweat. Ignis quickly shuts his eyes and breathes in, forcing himself to adjust—it’s not like he doesn’t know what both these two men smell like. What Noctis smells like when he’s undone. Noctis’ scent is all over Prompto, overpowering even the feral rage of heat. When Ignis opens his eyes again, he’s steadier.

He starts moving towards the bedroom, as much guided by that scent as his pre-existing knowledge of Prompto’s place. Prompto instantly follows. On the way, Ignis muses, “He’s taken over your nest, I assume.”

“Hm?” Prompto mumbles around a yawn. “Well, I mean... kinda...?”

“He tends to do that.” In fact, Ignis has never once made a nest that didn’t immediately become crown property within five minutes of inviting his prince in. Even Ignis needs a safe place to withstand his storms, but he always tries to function again right after, and would make his bed and go on with life as usual. Except Noctis plops down in them, claims them, builds them bigger and won’t leave until Ignis has regained enough strength to physically drag him out again. 

It’s no surprise to round the corner and find Noctis sprawled across Prompto’s bed, utterly naked with his discarded clothes draped over the side, his phone next to his head, his bag within the makeshift walls. His eyes are closed, clearly half-asleep, but still somehow carrying the air that he owns the place. It doesn’t even look like there’s room for Prompto to join with how spread out Noctis is, but then, Prompto isn’t as tall as Ignis and probably has an easier time fitting around his prince. 

A part of Ignis’ heart clenches. His body screams to find a way to make it work, to snuggle under Noctis’ arm and cocoon around him, beg entry to his kingdom even if it’s made out of Prompto’s linens. But Ignis shakes his head and banishes that thought. _Someone_ has to be responsible. He can’t be done in by Noctis’ charm and beauty, even though Noctis looks so _damn good_ naked. He isn’t just the most eligible bachelor in Insomnia, he’s the most handsome, alluring creature in all of Lucis. But that’s just Ignis’ deep-seated love talking.

The royal advisor in him clears his throat. Noctis’ face twitches—Ignis knows he heard it. He can probably sense another eager omega nearby. He must have Ignis’ scent memorized as much as Ignis knows his. Ignis tells him, “That’s enough, Noct. You’ve done your duty, and Prompto’s heat is obviously assuaged. But this is his nest. We need to leave him to recover while you get back to work.”

Prompto doesn’t quite manage to stifle a little whine behind Ignis. Ignis ignores it, even though he understands the sentiment. But Prompto has his own life to get back to—a part time job, university classes, the photography business he’s trying to start. And he’ll never recover while Noctis is enflaming his base urges. 

Noctis doesn’t have any reaction until Ignis bends down and swats his taut rear. A simple spank earns him a yelp, and Noctis’ eyes fly open, rolling to Ignis and squinting in a glare. Ignis resists the urge to give that firm buttocks a proper squeeze and instead straightens up again. It takes everything in him not to look at the flaccid cock resting between Noctis’ thighs, cushioned against a wet spot in the sheets. The entire bed is drenched in stains—Prompto needs a chance to launder it. Ignis would stay and launder it. Except someone has to drive Noctis back to the Citadel. 

Noctis huffs like the spoiled prince he is, “I’m staying.”

“You’re not. You need to go shower and change. We have a council meeting tonight, and you haven’t finished the requisite paperwork—”

“Specs, I’m staying.” It comes out a fierce growl, and then Noctis is even reaching out his arm, staring up at Ignis with such intensity that Ignis’ knees actually feel weak. Sometimes he forgets, in the wake of Noctis’ lazy easy-going nature, how much of an _alpha_ Noctis can be. 

Somehow, Ignis manages not to budge. Noctis waves over and bids, “Prom, c’mere.”

“Yes, Sir!” Prompto chirps. He scrambles to obey, giddy again, sweetly smiling and climbing up onto the bed, collapsing down on Noctis’ side and hugging him tight, both arms wrapped around his well-toned body. Noctis is half turned, so Prompto’s crotch is nestled against Noctis’ backside, and he wastes no time grinding against it, mewling as he noses at Noctis’ neck. It’s too easy. Noctis grins like he conquered some great resistance and knows Ignis doesn’t stand a chance. 

Ignis swallows. His throat is suddenly dry. He insists. “Noct, it’s Prompto’s—”

“He wants you here, don’t you, babe?”

“Mhm,” Prompto hums. Noctis leans back to peck his cheek, and Prompto blushes bright scarlet, sheepishly adding, “I, uh... I do, Iggy... you know I love you guys...”

Ignis loves them too. All of them. It’s not like he hasn’t begged Gladiolus to climb into his nest before and fuck him senseless, because Noctis was asleep on his shoulder and he still needed _more_. They’re a mess and he knows it. He’s the least messy. He has work. 

“Noct, the Citadel—”

Noctis extends the arm that isn’t around Prompto and declares like some stupid monarch in a badly written video game, “This is my new throne. Kneel before me, peasant. ...But like, kneel on the bed. With me.”

Ignis is so annoyed. He’s so fond. He sees Prompto wrestling off the shirt and knows Prompto’s done for—his return to civilization will be delayed for at least another day. The council meeting won’t postpone because a commoner went into heat around their greedy prince. 

Ignis loves that prince so much. Noctis murmurs softer, “Come here, Iggy.” And it’s that dumb nickname that topples him. Noctis’ intense stare combined with Prompto’s welcoming smile is too much. The nest looks sound, solid, inviting and impossibly warm. It’s Noctis’ new castle, somewhere Ignis is always meant to be. It doesn’t matter that the sheets aren’t his and he’d never buy anything like Prompto’s garish chocobo-patterned duvet. It feels _right_. 

Slipping his phone out of his pocket, Ignis shoots Clarus a guilty text excusing their lateness. Then he sends another begging Gladiolus for help—Prompto’s tiny bed definitely won’t fit him too, so hopefully he’ll have the good sense to resist like Ignis couldn’t and rescue the three of them from a downward spiral of adoring lust.

Then Ignis drops that phone next to Noctis’ and crawls forward into Noctis’ loving arms, hopelessly at home.


End file.
